


Only Learnt Your Name Today

by ear_hats



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ear_hats/pseuds/ear_hats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isn’t this a bit sudden?” Greg gasped as John latched onto his neck. He pulled away with a wet smack that had all three men straining against their trousers. The lines around John’s eyes crinkled with amusement.</p><p>“Maybe for Sherlock, he only learnt your name today.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Learnt Your Name Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [threebatchproblem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threebatchproblem/gifts).



> Happy birthday Dainton, have some bad porn<3

"So, what now?"   
The three of them were heading back into Grimpen by the light of their torches and the few street lights. They'd dropped Henry off back at his house with little fuss and followed Lestrade into the local police station where they'd given a quick report and were allowed to leave. Greg had been treated with an air of reverence from the local force there, what with being a big, scary inspector from Scotland Yard. Sherlock found it amusing. John thought it was quite the ego boost Greg deserved.   
  
Sherlock exhaled happily, practically bouncing down the country lane in the post-case euphoria that had seized him as usual.   
"That all depends on you, Lestrade."   
John shot Sherlock a warning look before smiling a little sheepishly up at Greg. The torches were switched off as the Gardener's Arms came into view, the yellow lights attracting them like moths to a flame.

“Want a drink, Greg?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

 

The couple behind the bar went rather pale as Lestrade strode over, and the short one made a hasty exit. Sherlock smirked.

“Are we doing this?” John asked quietly as Greg berated the owner and ordered them all a pint. Sherlock hummed deeply, the sound shooting straight down John’s spine. He reached out to grab Sherlock’s hand before the man could walk away. “Sherlock, this is serious. Are you sure you want to?” He was fixed with a cat-like stare.

“I want to. I told you, I want to.” John flushed a deep pink and if he wasn’t stood in the middle of a pub’s entrance he would have kissed Sherlock for all he was worth.

 

***

Greg didn’t take too much persuading in the end. He’d tried, of course, put up a token display of ‘not gay’ and ‘married’. Then Sherlock had pointed out that if his marriage meant that much to him then he wouldn’t have come or he would have brought his wife and if he tried to ring her now he wouldn’t get an answer because she was having another affair with the carpet salesman. (“But we haven’t bought any carpet… Oh, oh right.”) And he’d pointed out the _obvious_ signs of Greg’s arousal, the most remarkable one being the fact that he hadn’t told him to shut the fuck up yet. John had placed a hand on Greg’s thigh under the table and squeezed gently and all arguments ceased.

 

“You pushed the beds together.” The detective inspector remarked with a grin as they entered the room and Sherlock flicked the lights on.

“Of course.” Sherlock rumbled and a small smile flickered across John’s face. He would go as far as saying that Sherlock looked a little bit nervous.

“Right.”

“Yes.”

The three of them looked at each other, faces flushed from drink and arousal and a tiny bit of embarrassment. There was a second’s silence before both Sherlock’s and Greg’s eyes turned to John, he had started giggling. Greg frowned as Sherlock’s low chuckle joined in and he bent down to claim John’s lips with his own.

 

Their kiss grew very heated, very quickly. Greg couldn’t find the decency to look away, watching John’s hands tugging Sherlock’s hair, both nipping and sucking at each other’s lips and God, when was the last time he’d even entertained the thought of kissing someone like that? He could probably slip away now and neither of them would notice.

 

“Don’t go anywhere.” Sherlock growled and Greg felt his cock twitch in response. John turned and took a few steps closer to him. His lips were wet and swollen as he glanced down at Greg’s crotch and smirked. Greg felt ridiculously caught in the act, half tempted to run back to his own room and have a painful wank in the shower and half tempted to take exactly what he had been offered.

“Should I give Greg a kiss?” John asked Sherlock, who looked at them and mumbled something. John grinned. “Would you believe it? I’ve shut him up. Would you like a kiss, Greg?”

 

John’s lips were warm and pliable against his, and a small mmph of pleasure slipped out as John swiped his tongue along Greg’s lower lip and pushed it inside. Greg could taste the pints they’d had and an underlying taste of coffee and something rich that set his nerves on fire. It occurred to him he was probably tasting Sherlock at the same time and another moan made itself heard.

 

“Coat.” John gasped. “You too, Sherlock.” He had taken control of the proceedings but neither Greg nor Sherlock seemed to mind. Coats were removed and dropped to the floor and Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt for good measure, letting it fall and watching as John re-attached himself to Lestrade, leading him to the foot of the bed and pushing him into a seated position on it.

 

The sight left Sherlock gasping, brain short circuiting and leaving him with the overwhelming need to _touch_.

 

“Isn’t this a bit sudden?” Greg gasped as John latched onto his neck. He pulled away with a wet smack that had all three men straining against their trousers. The lines around John’s eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Maybe for Sherlock, he only learnt your name today.”

 

Upon hearing his name and the laughter from the bed, Sherlock seemed to come to life, huffing and crossing the room towards them. He slipped around the back of Lestrade, long, thin hands coming to undo the buttons of his black shirt and biting a violently red mark to the nape of his neck while John peppered kisses on the newly tanned skin being revealed. Greg groaned, no longer aware that he was doing so, as his shirt was pulled off and Sherlock pressed his chest flush to his back.

 

Something in the back of his mind decided that he needed John Watson naked as soon as he possibly could and Sherlock chuckled against his ear as he simply ripped the other’s checked shirt open. John gaped and both Greg and Sherlock thought that with his dark eyes, pink cheeks and mussed up hair, he looked simply glorious (or _bloody fuck, I would_ – in Lestrade’s case).

 

“How do you want us, _Greg_?” Sherlock’s voice sounded like it had dropped an octave and gone for a roll around in some honey and if his trousers weren’t feeling uncomfortably tight before, they were now. Hearing his first name come out of that _mouth_. Who cared that by tomorrow he was going to be Lestrade again?

“Huh?”

John chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“The sex.” Sherlock continued, his snappy tone clashing with John’s kiss and gentle, stroking fingertips on his thighs. It nearly gave Greg whip lash. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.” For the first time, Greg was quite happy he had spent his holiday in the south of Spain outdoors all the time, his ridiculous tan covered up his blush perfectly.

 

Because he had. He’d thought about John giving Sherlock a proper fucking while he watched, or while he thrust his dick deep into Sherlock’s mouth, shut him up for once. He’d thought about John’s arse, round and soft and what bruises he might leave behind if he gripped his hips too hard while he was fucking him, how tight he would be, and how they might tie Sherlock up and give him nothing if he misbehaved.

 

“I want John to fuck you.” He said finally and his voice didn’t shake at all. He watched John’s pupils grow and felt Sherlock’s nails briefly as he squeezed. “While I fuck John.” His statement was met by a low moan by his ear. Sherlock.

 

John huffed a laugh and leaned over to press a kiss to Sherlock’s lips and then one to the base of Greg’s throat.

 

“In that case we need nakedness.” John gave Greg a final kiss and he felt rather awkward and unprotected there on the bed as Sherlock and John both pulled away to strip off their remaining garments. Greg couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as John stumbled in his haste to get his trousers off, watching the tent in his (red, unusual but oddly arousing) pants.

“Don’t just sit there gawking.” Sherlock’s long-fingered hand came to wrap around Greg’s arm and he suppressed a gasp as he was pulled to his feet. Sherlock was already naked. He turned the half-gasp into a low wolf whistle and watched a patch of colour bloom across the man’s chest.

 

He really was, bloody fit. Lean as a whippet with a beautifully serviceable cock, already leaking beads of precome. Greg heard a whine begin in the back of his throat as Sherlock wrapped a hand around himself.

“Trousers, Greg.” John was naked too now; red pants discarded on the floor, Greg’s hands fell to his belt automatically. And, damn. There really was more to John Watson than met the eye.

 

Namely, a bloody great cock. Greg suddenly felt a little bit shy, quite sure that his mess of a body wouldn’t even compare to either of theirs and why would they even find him attractive when they had the privilege of fucking the other on a regular basis?

 

Because Sherlock looked like Michelangelo had popped over during puberty and carved him into a pale, extremely fuckable, Adonis and John still looked like a soldier, a thick set of muscles underneath a hint of fat. Even with the scar – Greg wasn’t going to admit that he wanted to run his tongue over the star shaped burst – John was bloody gorgeous. That sweetheart next door you couldn’t wait to get your hands on. Except. John didn’t live next door and he had Sherlock and Sherlock-

 

“Stop thinking. It’s irritating.” Sherlock took a large step into Greg’s personal space and grabbed his head, kissing him deeply, with more tongue than anticipated, until Greg thoroughly lost his train of thought. He took a deep breath, the smell of sex and sweat already strong in the air, and dived back in, sliding his tongue against Sherlock’s and revelling in the man’s moan of surprise. After all, it wasn’t very often he got to surprise him.

 

He jumped a little as warm hands pulled down his trousers and pants – black boxers, much more respectable, not even half as sexy – and pulled away from Sherlock in time to watch John take a long lick of his stupid tan line. He looked achingly good on his knees and Greg wondered if Sherlock often had John down there, sucking him off with that pink, wet tongue.

“Don’t.” He warned as John took him into his mouth, the wet heat making him squirm and arch against Sherlock’s chest. “If I come down your throat it might – fuck – put a stop to this – John!” John hummed in what sounded like disappointment and pulled off, leaning up to press a kiss to the end of Sherlock’s dick and grinning wickedly at the strangled sound he made.

 

Greg and John stared at each other with a grin as John got to his feet, both glancing at Sherlock who was glaring fixatedly at the stark line of contrast between Lestrade’s sun-tanned skin and the almost white skin of his crotch. He was muttering something, Sounded like the word ‘fascinating’.

 

“Sherlock and I need a bit of prep if we’re going to be fucked.” John slid a hand up Sherlock’s thigh and crowded him towards the bed. He fell back onto it and spread his legs automatically, revealing acres more of that smooth pale, skin and a small pucker where his hair ended. It made Greg choke. And to think, John got this pretty much whenever he wanted. The smaller man leant over to a bedside drawer and pulled out a new-looking bottle of lube and two condoms. “Who would you rather?” He passed the bottle over to Greg and Sherlock’s gaze turned on him expectantly. Greg’s tempted to say both, _I’ll finger you both until you’re screaming_ , but instead he nodded towards Sherlock’s prone form and John smiled.

 

After a slight bit of rearrangement and a pause so they could roll their condoms on, John shifted up so his arse was facing Sherlock, his back arching as the man trailed a lone finger up and down his crease, and Lestrade was in between Sherlock’s legs, slicking up his fingers and fighting a moan as both the others watched him hungrily. Sherlock gave an impatient moan as Greg pressed the tip of his finger to the tight hole, watching it flutter as he pushed forward a little more.

 

He could feel Sherlock’s muscles clench furiously around him as he was breached. Hot. Wet. And so fucking tight it was almost unbelievable that he and John were having regular sex. Sherlock’s hips bucked forward, trying to take him deeper, quicker, and Greg slid in further, desperately trying not to think about how John was going to feel around his cock or it wouldn’t happen.

 

He glanced over at John, whose hair was now stuck to his forehead with sweat and watched him shake like a leaf as Sherlock inched his way in. Greg’s finger was in to the hilt now and he wriggled the tip until it hit something and Sherlock all but jumped off the bed, crying out incoherently. As Sherlock ground down further, seeking more pressure on his prostate and making a low keening noise straight from a porno, he hit the same spot inside John and he tilted his head backwards and arched impossibly, mouth open in a loud moan of “Sherlock!”

 

Without thinking, he withdrew his finger and added another, Sherlock’s and then John’s hisses of approval spurring him on. John crawled forwards slightly and leaned in to lick his way into Greg’s mouth. The kiss was deep and heady in combination with the wet squeeze around his fingers – so different from a woman – and the growls of arousal coming from Sherlock as he watched the proceedings.

 

“More?” Greg pulled away and asked. John nodded.

“Fuck! Les- Greg!” Sherlock cursed as yet another finger was added, three now, scissoring and thrusting inside him, hitting his prostate nearly every time. John was rocking backwards with his hips, fucking himself on Sherlock’s fingers, sweat glistening on his skin and his bobbing erection dripping precome onto the sheets. Greg seized a stray thought: as long as he kept his eyes open he was never going to need a wank mag ever again.

 

“I’m ready.” John moaned as Sherlock withdrew his fingers, taking a brief lick and holding them out for Greg to do the same. A glance at John told Greg that he wanted him to, his pupils were blown and he seemed to tense up in anticipation. So, because he could, he sucked Sherlock’s fingers right into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits. The taste was dark, almost rich, and a little bitter. Not entirely pleasant but the others’ gasps were well worth it. “Fuck me.” John demanded. “Now.”

 

Despite his authoritative tone, John seemed unable to process where to move, eyes roaming hungrily between Sherlock’s body and Greg’s. The latter grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward, stooping to press a kiss to his scar, and then turning him around so he was sandwiched nicely in between him and Sherlock.

 

“He likes it a bit rough.” Sherlock said for no apparent reason other than to watch the hairs on John’s arms stand to attention. The thought of John, unassuming John in his jumpers, enjoying rougher sex made Greg’s cock twitch though he was already fully hard. He and Sherlock shared a smirk over John’s shoulder and Greg leant in so his lips were just brushing the shell of John’s ear.

“Are you going to make Sherlock scream because I’m fucking you so hard you can’t help yourself? Stuck in between us like a little slut?” John moaned and spread his legs so wide it must have been uncomfortable – but he was too far gone to neither notice nor care. Greg raked a hand down his back as he guided himself into Sherlock and felt an odd tingle at Sherlock’s muffled whisper’s of John’s name.

 

“Greg – please.” John’s voice broke slightly and Greg could feel him trembling. “Please.”

 

Keeping his hand firmly on the small of John’s back, Greg guided the head of his cock to John’s hole, hoping that the now mewling Sherlock had stretched him properly. Greg couldn’t help the moan that escaped him as he applied more lube and pushed inside, fast becoming addicted to this firm, wet heat.

 

He moved in slowly, hyper aware that he was also knocking John further inside Sherlock. Not that the detective seemed to mind. He reached out with both his hands to clutch at Greg’s arse, pulling him closer until they were all three joined together, a gorgeous, moaning John Watson in the middle. 

 

Every one of Greg’s nerves was screaming at him to _move, Goddamnit!_ pound into John’s arse until he came. But he just kept a hold of himself, tipping his head forward so his nose was buried in John’s hair. With every inhale he could smell the salt of his sweat and a strong, masculine odour. Sex.

 

Soon John started rocking, every thrust driving him deeper into Sherlock and Greg deeper into him.

“Fuck!” Someone cried; the room alive with curses and moaned names. It was unlike anything Greg had ever experienced, the wet slide of John around his cock and the feel of his skin, Sherlock’s hands curled round his hips. He could feel every small tremor in John’s body and if he looked over the man’s shoulder he could see Sherlock, laid out like a bloody meal, his eyes huge and gaze hot.

 

“Oh-! Oh-!” Sherlock’s mouth was hanging open, lips red and swollen. One day Greg was going to have his cock in that mouth. His curls were wild, several plastered to his forehead and the sides of his neck. His eyes were darting between Greg and John, so much data to be taken in, Greg assumed and they widened impossibly as he leant forward and tipped John’s head to the side, rocking into him as he bit his bottom lip and pulled lightly. John’s hips sped up; tightening around his cock and sending a hazy wave of lust to cloud his vision.

 

John came first, his thrusts becoming frantic and his muscles clenching deliciously around Greg’s. His hoarse cry made Greg’s mind go blank for a second, sending a red bolt of pleasure down his spine to curl around his groin.

 

“Greg,” John gasped, pulling on Sherlock’s nipples with his thumb and forefinger. Greg watched, mesmerised, as the other man squirmed and his cock began to leak copiously. “Finish him off.”

 

He didn’t need telling twice. John pulled out of Sherlock and Greg out of John, sluggish with lust.

“Hello, Sherlock.” Those eyes were almost black, only a thin ring of pale blue visible around the pupils. Greg gave himself three firm strokes, the condom bunching slightly as he did so, and pushed himself into Sherlock.

 

There was no waiting this time. As soon as he had breached that tight ring of muscle, he slammed in so Sherlock’s balls were resting on his pubic hair. From his place by their side, John let out a whimper.

 

“Oh! Greg, please!” Sherlock’s skin was silky with sweat. Greg thought he looked rather like a debauched angel, writhing around with white sheet wings.

 

It only took a few more thrusts, Greg hitting Sherlock’s prostate every time judging by the way the man arched upwards, making an odd sound in the back of his throat that aroused Greg no end.

 

“Sherlock – oh fuck – Sherlock, I’m gonna-!” Greg came inside Sherlock, stars exploding behind his eyelids and a deep growl escaping his chest. Sherlock came a few seconds later, come spurting onto his and Greg’s stomachs. “Ah, fuck.” Was all Greg could manage as John sat up and crawled over to clean them both off with his tongue, removing the condom and carefully sucking his over sensitive cock into his mouth until it was fully clean.

 

The three of them sat back against the headboard, still panting, limbs lazy and touching wherever possible. Greg was determined to enjoy his afterglow and not _think_ , it annoyed Sherlock anyway.

 

“God, if I was 20 I’d have you both again right now.” Said John, biting back a yawn. Greg grinned.

“Give me half an hour.”


End file.
